


After the Fire Burns Out

by teand



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2nd person POV, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teand/pseuds/teand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/359829">There Was Close</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	After the Fire Burns Out

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in Lj 19/03/2007

So here's the thing, you take down a laughing burning demon who almost tosses Dean onto the fire and it's a little too close for you to deal with. You've lost too many people you love to fire already and you just can't cope with how it almost happened again.

So you disconnect. You damned near get lost in your fear, trapped in your own head with the fire.

Then Dean pulls you out – kind of returning the favor from before. You save him, he saves you. That's how it goes. That's how it's always gone.

Except...

This time it went a little further because this time maybe you both needed a little more convincing that he was alive – given your family history with fire and all. So you end up sprawled out on one of the ubiquitously fugly hotel bedspreads with your hand down your brother's pants and his hand down yours and it should feel wrong but at the risk of sounding stupidly cliché, it feels right. Entirely right. Like, what the fuck took you two bozos so long to get here, right.

And you're both so exhausted – physically and emotionally – that neither enjoying the afterglow nor having a high holy freak out is really an option. There's a quick scrub down and you collapse into separate beds because both of you in one double has been one Winchester too many for years now and all you're thinking of is sleep.

You'll deal with the consequences in the morning.

Unfortunately, the sun rises...

There's a coffee maker in the motel room – there almost always is these days – and when Dean wakes up, you're sitting at the blue painted table in your jeans trying not to notice that someone shoved a condom – fortunately still wrapped -- under one leg to keep it from wobbling, and drinking what might be the worst coffee you've ever had the privilege of putting in your mouth. Although he can snap from dreamland to deadly in a nanosecond under threat, given a choice, Dean's not much of a morning person. Grunting, he hauls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, scrubs a hand over his face, staggers to the table, and empties the small, stained Pyrex pot into the other mug.

He takes a drink, scowls, mutters "Christo," at the coffee as he scratches his stomach where the elastic of his boxers has imprinted during the night, and then staggers into the bathroom still holding the mug.

Although the door is closed, it's thin enough that you hear him piss, you hear him flush, you hear the taps run.

So far, it's a morning like every other morning you've shared on the road. Except you can remember the feel of his cock in your hand, his hand on your cock and the little whimper he made when he came. He'll deny the whimper. You don't know how much of the rest he'll be willing to acknowledge but you know you've crossed a line you've been heading toward for a long time and you have no intention of crossing back.

Memory has your cheeks burning and your jeans uncomfortably tight by the time he comes out of the bathroom.

Dean takes a last long swallow of coffee, and says, "You feeling all right?"

"Yeah. Dean, about last night..."

The frown doesn't surprise you. His words do. "You told me you were sure, Sammy. You saying you lied to me?"

You always thought that 'his jaw dropped' was a figure of speech but you feel yours drop. Literally drop. When you finally manage a stunned denial, he grins.

"Then we don't need to talk about it."

"But..."

"We talk about anything else we do together? Hunting? Driving? Drinking? No," he answers, dragging on his jeans. "We just do it."

"So, you're saying we're just going to do this?" You wave a hand back and forth between you and he snickers as his gaze dips to your crotch.

"Well, not right now, you pervert. I'm so fucking hungry, I'm about to fry my own liver." He drags a t-shirt out of your duffle and whips it at your head. "Put some clothes on and let's find out if we're far enough south to hit a Waffle House."

You pull the t-shirt on. Then button a flannel shirt over that. Then shrug into a hoodie. And it's all so stupidly normal – once your fingers have remembered how buttons work – that your erection actually eases back from painful to mildly annoying. Mildly annoying. Kind of like Dean. You snicker as you pack up the rest of your gear, but your amusement's faded by the time you get to the door and you realize you're frowning when Dean pauses, one hand on the doorknob and shakes his head.

"You want to call a do over?" he sighs.

At first you think he's asking do you want to do it again, right now, then you realize he's giving you a chance to back out. You snap out an indignant, "No."

For a second, maybe two, he actually lets you see what that means to him. How scared he was that you'd changed your mind in the bright light of day. Then he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and he pulls your mouth down to his.

The kiss is a promise.

He pulls away just as it starts to get heated and he says, "See? You think too God damned much, Sammy."

As you close the door behind you and follow him out to the Impala, you think he might be right. Not that you'll ever tell him that.

\--end--


End file.
